


Dance of the Snakes

by zetsubou1



Series: Dance of the Snakes [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Anxiety, Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Child Death, Child Neglect, Depression, Drinking, Explicit Language, Family Issues, Fantasy, Gen, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Major Original Character(s), Original Character Death(s), Original Character-centric, Original Female Characters - Freeform, Original Male Characters - Freeform, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Canon, Prequel, Royalty, Sibling Incest, Slavery, Underage Drinking, War, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28569819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetsubou1/pseuds/zetsubou1
Summary: In the twilight of the Eldian Empire, the second son of the House of Tybur discovers that he is but a very small piece in a game that he can't even begin to understand. Prequel to the events of Attack on Titan, set before and during the Great Titan War. All OCs owned by me.
Series: Dance of the Snakes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188002
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. Brothers in Arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place largely on the Eldian mainland, which is never really developed in canon. Because it is a prequel, all but one character are OCs, and most of the worldbuilding is my own as well. If you're not caught up on the anime, you will be spoiled. Like bad. This is my warning to you.
> 
> I thought Isayama really messed up by making the Great Titan War so important to the backstory of AOT but never really expanding on it. Since I never really saw anyone else try to write something about it, either, I decided to give it a shot. This is my first fic, so all feedback/criticism/whatever is appreciated!

_ "The Titans came from beneath the waves. They came in number and force so overwhelming that the only course of action for us was to pray...the men on the walls fought in vain with their long spears, but failed to kill even a single one...They roamed the streets, devouring all who stood before them. The army could do nothing, and were themselves eaten up in equal measure with the citizens. I watched as a mother and a child were eaten at the same time, in a single bite...I watched as what remained of the populace was forced into a corner, crushed, and devoured. Only the gods know how I managed to escape with my life. As I boarded the last ship departing from the opposite harbor, I was reminded of one indisputable fact: the Eldians are devils, all." _

_ \- Account of the Fall of Lago, c. 633 _

**CHAPTER ONE**

_ Brothers in Arms _

_ February 29, 1724 _

_ North Marley _

It was morning when the cannon fire started.

Henry Tybur woke with a start, as, in seconds, dozens of artillery pieces let loose a withering hail of fire. Still half-asleep, he peered out of his tent, watching the plumes of dust rise in the distance as they found their first targets.

He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and got up out of his tent. The artillery fired again, and he couldn't help but smile at the sound of the big guns firing in perfect unison.

_ Music to my ears. _

There were many things that could be said about Henry Tybur. "He's handsome" was not one of them. "He needs a haircut," on the other hand, most definitely was. Thick, blond hair stretched down almost to his shoulders - it was getting to the point where even brushing it was difficult. He had deep, green eyes - green like the snow-tipped firs that stretched out for miles in all directions, or the frosted grass trampled beneath the feet of the advancing Eldian army on their march to the cold northern wastes of Marley. He had a thin nose and was clean-shaven, for the most part, but a few whiskers managed to escape the razor and stuck out conspicuously on his face. Overall, he considered himself to be quite handsome, although, much to his dismay, most girls in the capital would disagree with that assessment.

Henry shivered, and put on the white greatcoat he had been using as a blanket. He stepped outside his tent, breathing in the cold, crisp morning air. The sun painted the cloudless sky in brilliant hues of purple and orange. It was a beautiful sight; he knew that, for many men today, it would be their last. He looked over a few yards to the right, at the tent, identical to his own, that served as the only other occupant of the hill.  _ That idiot better not be asleep, _ he thought.

White, cone-shaped tents stretched out in all directions, laid out neatly into rows intersected by wide dirt paths worn by hooves and footsteps and bounded on the north side by a wooden palisade. The Eldians had chosen to encamp on a small group of hills, where the forests gave way to the grassy tundra. The hill on which Henry's tent stood served as an excellent vantage point, giving him a nearly unmatched view of what was going on. He could see the enemy's earthworks in the distance, and could just make out the shapes of men fighting, with the Eldians in white pushing the red-coated Marleyans.

_ This first attack was just supposed to be a diversion, but they look like they're struggling already,  _ he thought, _ watching the Marleyans struggle desperately to hold on to their positions. That's Marley for you. _

It was impossible to sum up the feelings that the Eldians and Marleyans had for each other in a simple word like "hate" or "loathing." That would be selling it much too short. To them, it was a feeling as natural as breathing and as integral as the very hearts through which flowed the blood colored by the mutual hatred of two thousand years. They did not know why they despised each other so passionately - those reasons had long since been lost to history. The prevailing theory among Eldian scholars and historians was that the first Eldian-Marleyan War was fought over either resources or the territories around the Kirchnau River basin that marked the border between the two.

All they knew was that the other was a nation so profound in its inferiority that the only right course of action was to wipe it off the face of the earth.

When the Founder Ymir inherited the Founding Titan, it had tipped the scales of the endless wars between the two decisively in Eldia's favor. The Marleyan nation had only survived up to now by fleeing to different frontiers of the continent, as far away as physically possible from the ever-expanding Eldian Empire.

After all, when you were up against a Titan, what else could you do but run away?

He rubbed his eyes again. The Marleyans had set up barely two and a half miles from the Eldian camp over the previous night, but, otherwise, had done nothing. Despite their arrogance, they were waiting for the Eldians to make the first move. To any logical observer, this strategy would seem stupid; to one even remotely familiar with the Eldian army, it was nothing other than suicide.

"Hey, Henry!" a girl's voice called out. Henry looked in her direction, and shook his head in immediate disappointment at what he saw.

A feathered shako covered her hair - imperfectly, as some black strands found their way out from underneath. She wore the white coat of an Eldian infantryman, along with black trousers and boots. For all intents and purposes - at least, from a distance - the figure waving to him was an ordinary Eldian soldier on his way to join up with his regiment and fight in the ongoing battle. Henry knew better. Cracks could be seen in the façade, especially from closer up as they met at the crest of the hill.

She was beautiful, despite making every attempt to appear not to be. Her thin face had been intentionally smeared with small patches of dirt in an attempt to hide her feminine appearance and make her blend in with the rest of the army, which had the effect of only making her bright blue eyes stand out even more. Upon closer inspection, Henry noticed that she was wearing a cavalry officer's dark blue tunic, like his own, rather than the gray one given to the infantry to wear beneath the iconic Eldian white coats. She had a rifle slung over her shoulder, but it was over her right, not her left, which was against one of the most basic principles of Eldian drill. It looked like she was carrying a bucket, which was heavy enough that she needed both hands to do so. As she approached Henry, water splashed from side to side, spilling onto the grass.

It was clear that her secret was not safe, and that the slightest look from any commanding officer with more than half a brain cell would bring an end to her brief stint in the Eldian military. Henry knew she was in way over her head.

But that was Teresa Ackerman for you.

"Morning, Teresa," he called back, grinning. He gestured to the water bucket in her hands. "You thirsty?"

"No, but I bet your brother could use a drink. Hold his tent open for me," she said, smiling deviously.

"Hold on a second."

For a second, he peered through the open flap, confirming what he already knew what he would see: his brother, sound asleep. Even as an entire army prepared for battle, with the sound of roaring cannons and trampling hooves well within earshot, you could count on Louis Tybur to sleep like a log through it all.

"Wake up, Lou!" he called.

Louis didn't move.

"You wanna be late for your first battle?"

Nothing.

_ Damn. Oh, well. If that didn't wake you up… _

He sighed. "Go ahead," he said, stepping aside.

Teresa ran up to the open tent, water splashing from the bucket with every step.

"Get up!" she shouted, dumping the entire bucket of ice-cold water onto Louis's sleeping face.

Louis shot up. "What the hell?" he cried, rubbing the water out of his eyes. He turned to face the intruder. "Teresa?" he asked, groggily. His bewildered expression softened when he saw who had woken him up, but only for a moment. Angrily, he shoved Teresa out of his tent, shutting the flap with authority. Henry and Teresa shared a laugh from outside, leaving Louis to come to terms with his situation.

"Shit! My coat! You got it wet! You got everything wet!" he exclaimed. "On Ymir's soul, if that shit got on the powder, too…"

"It did," he breathed. "It actually  _ fucking _ did. The day of my first battle as a soldier and you go and ruin it. When I'm general and Henry's a Holder, I'm gonna have you locked in irons for this."

"He sure gets mad when he's cranky," Teresa sighed.

"I don't know what you thought would happen. You messed with his beauty sleep. There's an old proverb that goes-"

"I don't care," Teresa interjected, cutting Henry off before he could cite the wisdom of his ancient Eldian ancestors. Louis poked his head out of his tent, and walked out, crossly, wearing the soaked uniform he had been sleeping peacefully in not two minutes before.

No matter how much he hated to admit it, Louis was not like his brother. He had dark brown hair, bordering on black - unheard of in the Tybur family, who were known for being fair-haired. Every aspect of his face, from his chestnut-colored eyes, to his curly hair, still dripping wet, which hung down his forehead in messy bangs, to even the bit of black stubble on his chin, all seemed to say two things: "Me and Henry Tybur are not related," and "I look better than you."

"Morning, sleepyhead," Teresa said, smiling. "Sleep well?"

"Shut up." Louis groaned.

"For the record, it was Henry's idea."

"Was not!"

Louis saw his brother, and, from the look on his face, you could have never told he had just had an entire bucket of what was basically ice dumped on him in his sleep.

"Hey, Henry! I thought I heard you," he called, beaming.

"Morning, Lou." Henry said. "Big day today. Are you ready?"

"If you'd asked that question five minutes ago, I would have said yes, but  _ now… _ " Louis sighed, gesturing to his soaked uniform.

"You were asleep five minutes ago, stupid." Teresa said.

"Did I ask you?" Louis fired back, angrily. "You've got the wrong uniform on, by the way. I'd give you my tunic to fix it. Too bad  _ someone _ had to go and get it wet."

Henry couldn't help but laugh. For as long as he could remember, the three of them had been best friends. The old days used to go by so fast, Henry remembered, fondly, thinking back to when they were kids playing in the woods of the massive Tybur family estate without a care in the world.  _ Whatever had happened to them? _

He watched as Louis dumped out the soaked powder cartridge on the grass, and gazed absentmindedly at the impotent pile of its spilled contents. He let out a brief sigh - he knew the answer before he even asked.

_ That's right. I joined the army. _

It was typical among the eldest sons of Eldia's eight most noble families - the Holders, each of whom held massive, virtually independent territories and commanded their own armies - to join the household military at an early age. Henry had done so at thirteen, which seemed to be around the age other Holder children enlisted as well. Although he would have liked to keep those carefree childhood days around forever, he knew he had a far greater responsibility ahead of him.

As the heir-designate to the Tybur family, Henry was next in line to receive the War Hammer Titan. That wasn't all he'd be inheriting from his father; he was one of the most esteemed Eldian generals ever, and the weight of the knowledge that Lucius Tybur's legacy would soon be his to bear was never far from Henry's mind. Regardless, he was eager to live up to it, and recognized that some sacrifices would have to be made to this end, his time spent playing in the forest among them.

_ Today's the day I prove myself worthy, _ he thought, tuning out Louis and Teresa's bickering.  _ Of being a Titan. A general. A man like my father. _

It was his first battle in three years of being a soldier. His first posting had been as a guard in one of the southern border forts in Castellano territory, which was about as glamorous as it sounded.

"It's for your own good," his father had said. "It'll build character. Make you stronger for the real thing."

All it had done was give him a crash course in shoveling horse shit. That was why, although it was no doubt a tragedy, he was secretly thankful for Lord Castellano's disappearance a year later. His father had enrolled him in the Laukirch Military Academy - the most prestigious school of its kind in the entire Empire, and, therefore, the world - but he'd been pulled out prematurely in order to take part in the campaign against the Marleyans.

"Those Easterners may all be monkeys and brutes, but at least they put out some damn good soldiers," his father had said to him on the day Henry returned home. "Regardless, I've always been a strong believer in a good hands-on education."

He had still been given his commission, but both he and his father acknowledged that he wasn't ready to assume the actual roles of an officer; thus, although he was technically a lieutenant of the 1st Household Dragoons, he was one in name only.

_ At least I get to fight. _

"Shit! Teresa, you're gonna make me late! I have to get a new uniform and everything!"

Taking off her rifle, Teresa stood it up barrel first, leaning on the stock. "At least you don't have to carry this damn thing on the way there. I doubt our dads will let you miss it, but you should still probably get going."

"She's right," Henry said. "Let's move. We're probably already late as is. You can eat on the way." He handed his brother a hard biscuit.

"That's it? My first battle, and all I get's a damn biscuit…" Louis groaned. Still, he took it from his brother's hand a little  _ too _ fast; in a matter of seconds it was gone.

"I'll never get used to these things. Tastes like cardboard," he said, his mouth still full.

"Don't talk while you're eating, Lou. It's improper," Henry admonished, ruffling his brother's soaked brown hair.

"Yeah, yeah. I know," Louis replied, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Wait…You're not fighting, Teresa, are you?"

"Yeah, I am. Dad doesn't know about it, though. I know you're going to see him at some point, so keep it a secret."

"But you're gonna-"

"What?" Teresa interjected. "Get hurt? Die? Don't make me laugh. It's like you don't even know who you're talking to. You think just cause I'm a girl means I'm in trouble out there? I'm an  _ Ackerman _ , Lou. Dying on the battlefield isn't something we're known for."

She put a hand on Louis's shoulder, and, in a softer tone, added, "You, on the other hand. Come back in one piece, alright? That goes for you too, Henry. Don't die out there."

Louis brushed it off.

"Speak for yourself," he said, with none of the earlier spirit that had so animated his voice.

Louis had joined the army to follow the brother he looked up to so much, and Teresa...why was Teresa here? Henry doubted even she knew the answer to that question. Regardless, none of them had ever seen the battlefield before. His brother's concerns were pretty well-founded, and despite the front Teresa put up, he knew she was having her own doubts as well.

_ Yeah, it's natural for them to worry, but what is there to be worried about? Don't they know who we're fighting? Marleyans, for God's sake. We'll be out of here in two hours. _

Henry led his brother away from their tents, down the hill, and towards the center of the camp.

"Bye, Teresa!" they called, waving.

"Later!" came the response from atop the hill. Before she disappeared down the opposite slope, he saw her sling her rifle over her right shoulder.

_ Still the wrong side, _ he thought to himself, snorting in amusement.

As they entered the main camp, they were greeted by the few men who still hadn't headed off to battle with shouts of "Prince Tybur!" Henry had always been unsure of how to deal with the attention; in situations like this, he found it prudent to just smile and wave. Groups of soldiers clustered around and pointed to the Tybur brothers, talking amongst themselves in hushed voices. He knew he would have to learn to deal with life in the public eye - he was the heir to one of the most powerful men in the world, after all - but it was still a daunting task. One he had not yet accomplished, and, at this rate, felt he never would.

_ You're a Tybur. You've got to expect that all eyes are gonna be on you today. _

"Here we go, Lou," Henry said, breathing a little easier as they approached the center of the camp. An ornately carved mahogany table sat out in the open air, cluttered with maps and papers. There were four chairs, two of which were open, no doubt for himself and his brother. The other two were occupied.

"Right," Louis said, nodding, his determined gaze set not on the table in front of them, but in the direction of the battlefield.

Faintly, the screams of men could be heard off in the distance.

  
  
  



	2. Murderers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry prepares to do battle with Marley. Louis prepares to sit and watch.

**CHAPTER TWO**

_Murderers_

It would be no exaggeration to call the men with whom Henry and Louis were now seated two of the most powerful men in the world. One of them, a Holder, general, and business magnate, whose wealth and authority stretched far beyond the borders of his domain; the other, the highest-ranking general in the Eldian Empire, a man whose reputation of victory against impossible odds preceded him across all four corners of the world. Men who, with just a mere mention of their name, struck fear into what few enemies the Empire still had. 

“Hey, Dad,” said the Tybur brothers in greeting.

“Good morning, boys,” their father said, smiling. “I hope you slept well. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

Henry grinned as he watched Louis’s face take on a scowl. 

The elder Tybur gestured to Louis’s uniform, still soaked through to the skin. “What happened there?”

“He slipped and fell in some grass. You know how it gets in the morning,” Henry said.

His father raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing the story. “Is that so?”

There was not a soul in the Empire who couldn’t recognize that face - Lucius Tybur’s high cheekbones, deep blue eyes, and long locks of gorgeous blond hair were famous even before he inherited the War Hammer Titan. Eldian schoolchildren were, early on, taught the stories of how he’d abandoned his life as a playboy socialite to join the army. They were told that, by abandoning his status as a merchant and member of the capital’s high society, he showed the kind of exemplary virtue that all young Eldians should strive to live up to. The true facts behind his past were, except for the barest details, much more obscure and unknown even to Henry.

Some said he had sold everything he owned and shown up to the recruitment office with just the clothes on his back, motivated only by his desire to serve his king and country. Others, more surreptitiously, suggested that he had used the Tybur family fortune to buy favor with his officers and secure the unprecedented series of rapid promotions that saw him become a general in just eleven years of service. And _no one_ had any idea how he’d gotten Lord Parval to name him in his will as the inheritor to the War Hammer Titan.

Whatever the case, he had earned not only the respect and admiration of the entire empire through his military success, but also the reputation of a decisive thinker and man of action; Henry knew him well enough to say, confidently, that his father wouldn’t call him out on his bullshit. Not now, at least. 

“I’ll have the quartermaster get you a new one, then. Not that you’ll really be needing it, anyway,” said Lucius, squaring up a map and turning it to face the brothers. “You won’t be doing much fighting today.”

“ _What?_ ” Louis exclaimed, slamming his hands down on the table. “I’m not gonna fight? This might be the only battle I ever get to actually fight in, with how the army sits around all the time.”

“For your sake, Louis, I hope it is,” muttered the other man at the table, in between long drags of a thick cigar.

It was said that children in Marley would gather around late at night and tell tales of the son of the devil: a winged demon with two heads and four arms who disguised himself as a human to eat them up. They would lean ever closer into the fire as the storyteller, with dramatic flair, would explain that Marleyan children were his favorite delicacy, and go on in graphic detail to describe how he had once eaten an entire village in one day. Then, some noise; a twig, perhaps, snapped in half under the careless hoof of a reindeer, or snow falling from the overburdened branches of the Marleyan pines, would bring a premature end to the story, and send the kids running for their parents, by then fast asleep in the safety of their sturdy log cabins. It was exceptionally rare that these children got to the conclusion to the story: the son of the devil took the name Marshall Ackerman, the leading general in the Imperial Army; the man who had forced the Marleyan people into their current exile at the northern edge of the continent.

Those who knew Marshall couldn’t entirely discount the possibility that he was a secret demon prince, but they could say with confidence that he at least didn’t look the part. He had kind blue eyes that crinkled around the corners when he smiled, and short, close-cropped black hair that was beginning to gray. The vestiges of a mustache occupied his upper lip; the cigar, worth more than the average soldier made in three years, occupied his attention. Like Lucius, he wore the white dress uniform and bicorne of an Eldian general. However, unlike his counterpart, he wasn’t wearing the golden sash that designated overall command authority. As Lucius spoke up, he set his cigar down in an ashtray, watching passively as the hot ash fell from its foot before going back to reviewing his maps.

“Louis, this is a learning experience, as much for your brother as it is for you. Neither of you have ever seen actual combat. If you’re going to be my sons and follow in my footsteps as soldiers, it’s important that I don’t just throw you out there before you know what you’re doing. Henry’s gone through three years of training and military service - three years of experience that you don’t have. So, that’s why he gets to fight, and you don’t. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is,” said Lucius.

Louis sighed. _Deep down, he knows Dad’s right_.

Lucius gestured to the map, which depicted the Eldian camp and its surroundings.

“Henry, you remember how to read a battle map, right?”

“Of course. It was the first thing they taught us at Laukirch.”

A series of detailed lines depicting the positions of each army were outlined, along with arrows indicating the movements that they would take. The basic features of the battlefield had been labeled and displayed. The Marleyans occupied a plain in between two forests, and their positions were, unusually, marked by a single straight line stretching bounded only by the woods on either edge of the map. It was strange to see; although it was true that the men of both the Eldian and Marleyan armies fought in line-based formations, they did so in battalions of a thousand men each at most. 

_From the looks of it, that’s their whole army, in one straight line…_

Still, Eldia’s field reconnaissance was the best in the world. There was no doubt in Henry’s mind that the information he saw was accurate, no matter how militarily unorthodox it seemed to be.

Marshall spoke up. “By extending their line, the Marleyans are hoping to make us move wider out in order to accomplish the goal your father has come up with: surround the Marleyans with the cavalry while the infantry occupy theirs.”

Broken up into a series of double lines was the infantry - the men who made up the majority of the Eldian army, who fought the enemy on foot in the packed lines and rigid formations that were drilled into all recruits incessantly before they went off to battle. The Eldian lines, unlike the Marleyans, were broken up into three formations, labeled “Ambrose,” “Colburn,” and “Cheveral.” There were three arrows, one in front of each formation, all pointing straight to the Marleyan line.

_Those must be the generals’ names,_ Henry thought. _But..._

“Is this calling for a frontal attack?” he asked.

“That’s right,” said his father.

“Lucius is of the opinion that, just because the enemy doesn’t have any artillery, assaulting a series of fortified positions head-on with an army of Eastern conscripts is the best move.”

Lucius laughed.

“Marshall! You’re too nervous. Too conservative. These are the _dogs_ we’re talking about, after all. They’ve only had a single night to fortify, and our scouts earlier this morning only reported a couple stakes in the center and some light earthworks as the extent of their defense. They want us to hold off; that gives them more time to get set up. I’m calling their bluff.”

“Whatever you say.” Marshall shrugged. “Just remember that it’s your responsibility if things go wrong.”

On either edge of the Eldian line were drawn two boxes, with a diagonal line through them: the symbol for cavalry. Men on horseback. The men who Henry had idolized since he was young, and the men with whom he’d be fighting. “Brzenska” and “Pendegrast” were the general’s names, in charge of the divisions on the left and right, respectively. Arrows designated their place in the battle. Rather than fighting directly, they’d be trying to surround the Marleyans, moving in from the point just before the enemy lines reached the forest.

There was a third box, farther off to the left, labeled “Carlisle.”

“Is that the Colonel?” Henry asked, pointing to it.

“That’s right. Those are the 1st Dragoons, who you’ll be fighting with, and who I have so generously lended to this campaign.”

“But why are they separate from Brzenska’s division?”

“Because they’re mine. Also, I hesitate to give Brzenska command of the finest unit in the army. He’s a quick thinker, but his record speaks for itself.”

Occupying the space behind the infantry that Henry had seen fighting earlier was a small line of infantry, labeled “reserves” - it was here that Lucius pointed, as he continued.

“Louis, you’ll be here. There’s a hill with some good visibility about a mile away. I’ll put you there, with some staff officers to tell you what’s going on. You won’t be fighting, but you’ll be pretty close to the action.”

Louis now looked more disappointed than upset, but Henry knew that, at this point, so close to the battlefields they’d always talked about fighting on together, his brother would take what he could get. 

“Okay.”

“What about the artillery?” Henry asked.

“We have sixty-two guns, set up in eight batteries. The goal is to bring them as close as we can to the Marleyan line, before using them to blast open their positions and force our way inside,” explained Marshall.

“That’s right. Although we expect to see moderate casualties, we’d still like to keep them to a minimum and avoid a bloody assault. It’d look bad for us if we let the dogs kill too many of us this time around.”

“Right. This time around…” Marshall muttered, before taking another drag of his cigar.

Henry nodded. He had always been amused by the old pejorative for the Marleyans. They were a people who deserved no respect; a people who lived off the meager scraps of fallow, frozen land that they only held onto because no one else wanted it. The name “dog” suited them well.

Lucius produced a sheet of paper and handed it to Henry. 

“Those are the orders for the 1st Dragoon Regiment,” he said. “ _Your_ orders, personally, are to get a horse from over there-” he pointed to a small nearby enclosure where several horses stood, grazing - “and make for the regiment with all speed. Once you reach them, find Colonel Carlisle and give him these orders. He’ll tell you what to do from there.”

“Thank you,” Henry said. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know.”

Lucius stood up. “Louis, stay with me for the time being. Henry, the quartermaster should have a rifle and sword for you. You’ve got the spurs?”

“Yeah. How could I forget?” 

“Excellent. Make me proud, Henry.”

_Oh, I will. I’ll make this whole country proud today._

Henry and Louis got up, and gave each other a brief, but warm, embrace.

“I’ll see you, Lou,” said Henry. “Good luck out there.”

“Please,” his brother scoffed. “You’re saying that like I need it.”

\-----

The two generals stood and watched the Tybur brothers as they departed for their respective assignments.

“Reminds me of us,” said Marshall, chuckling.

“Yeah. How fast twenty years goes by...before I knew it, I was married, with five little brats to take care of. I used to curse myself for resigning every time Louis kept me up in the middle of the night with his whining. Used to wish for those simpler times back. Sometimes, I still do. Back when it was just you, me, and the dogs.”

Marshall’s expression hardened.

“You’re forgetting someone, Lucius.”

“I didn’t forget him. I left him out.”

A silence came over the camp, interrupted only by the rustle of a few papers and maps as they were blown off the table by a cold morning breeze. Neither of the men went to pick them up.

“It’s strange, you know. I don’t remember the great Marshall Ackerman as being much of a smoker.”

Marshall blew out a thick cloud of smoke. He rolled his cigar around between his middle and first finger, cracking a slight smile at Lucius’s words.

“Neither do I.”

\-----

Henry was awestruck.

The might of the Eldian cavalry was on display before him, separated and organized neatly by regiment. Despite the fact that he knew this was only half of the army’s cavalry forces, it seemed like there was no end to the rows of mounted men. Unlike the infantry, the cavalry wore dark blue coats, with bright white tunics underneath. They told each other apart based on the color of their facings, with his own regiment, the 1st Dragoons, wearing a dark red. All of them wore sable breeches and black riding boots with glossy silver spurs. The cavalry, impeccably dressed and organized, gave Henry the same feeling he’d gotten all those years ago when he’d first laid eyes on them.

_We can’t lose. Not if we go to battle looking like this,_ he thought with a satisfied smile. _Just how I remember them._

Ever since he was young, Henry had always had a fascination with the mounted arm of the Eldian military. On occasion, his father would take him to go watch them drill on some plain in the northeast, and every time he would stare awestruck at the sight of the masses of men moving as one in their deep blue coats, with their glossy gold buttons and crested black-and-gold helmets. The sight of the men on horseback were, to him, the manifestation of Eldia’s glory and supremacy. How could you even compete with Eldia when they had the cavalry on their side?

Henry’s fascination soon turned into a tangible desire to join these men who so boldly charged into danger headfirst and carried the white and blue standard of the Eldian Empire across new frontiers. Within weeks of getting taken out of Laukirch, his father and Marshall launched the campaign. He hadn’t been officially assigned to a regiment until today, but although that fact used to give him pause, he no longer cared. After all, his first battle - the day he had been dreaming of for years - was finally here.

_This is my chance. This is where it all starts. First, we win here. Then I get an actual officer spot in the Dragoons and work my way up to Colonel. After that...who knows? Anything can happen. Especially once I inherit Dad’s Titan. The sky’s the limit._

“Prince Tybur!” a man’s voice called out. 

_Shit_.

“ _Dismount!_ ”

The order, carried over the arctic air in a thunderous bark, sent a jolt down Henry’s spine. The entire cavalry, seeming to move almost as one, obeyed it without a hitch. They had their boots on the ground in seconds.

“ _About face!_ ”

The cavalry turned to face Henry. He felt the pressure - familiar, but still overwhelmingly mortifying - of thousands of eyes suddenly turned on him. From now on, his every move would be scrutinized and picked apart by these men. Although their blank outward expressions didn’t show it, they were already casting their own judgments on the heir to the Tybur family. It was in these first critical moments that Henry had to earn their respect. Not even during battle would he have so much attention on him.

Not knowing what else to do, he smiled awkwardly and gave the men a little wave.

“ _Salute Prince Tybur!_ ”

In a single motion, the men made their hands into fists, drawing their left behind their back and their right to their chest with a resounding _thump_. It was a simple gesture. The fist represented the determination of the soldier to give himself to a greater cause, and the heart represented...the heart. Supposedly, his father had come up with it. Henry had never liked the implications behind it. The idea that people would just give up who they were to serve someone else or their cause like a tool had never sat right with him. 

Three men rode up to him through the wide gap between the neat rows and columns of the dismounted regiments. Two of them wore officer uniforms similar to his own, while the other wore a white dress uniform with gaudy golden epaulets and a bright crimson sash. Aside from the sound of their horses’ hooves trotting across the frozen earth and the distant sounds of battle, the plain was totally silent.

“A good friend of mine once said that one’s influence on the next generation is the only way to measure true greatness. In other words, no matter how much one accomplishes within his lifetime, it all means nothing if there is no one after him to remember what he did and pick up from where he left off. Prince Tybur, it is an honor and a privilege to finally meet the man about whom those words were spoken. My name is Lieutenant General Leopold Brzenska,” said the man in white in a booming voice. 

“These are the commanding officers of the 1st Dragoons: Colonel Stephen Carlisle and Lieutenant Colonel Charles Cordenay. I understand you have orders from General Tybur?”

“Um…Yes, I do, sir,” Henry answered meekly, handing him the orders his father had given to him.

The first thing that stood out to Henry was that, despite appearing to be a similar age to his father, Brzenska’s hair was white down to the roots. Not that there was much of it, anyway; aside from a smattering in the back and the thick combination of sideburns and mustache that dominated his face, he was almost totally bald. His icy blue eyes regarded Henry with passionate intensity, and Henry found himself almost subconsciously trying to avoid his gaze. Not wanting to look away, he devoted his attention to examining the general’s uniform, trying to find some crease or blemish to scrutinize - to his dismay, there were none.

“Very good,” said Brzenska, handing off the orders to Colonel Carlisle. The two regimental officers had a look on their faces that seemed to convey both disgust and detached amusement. He took a look at the orders and whispered something to the lieutenant colonel, who took them and rode off to the west. 

“Believe me, Prince Tybur, I speak for all of us when I say that it is an honor to share the battlefield with you today. I have no doubt that you will acquit yourself most honorably today.”

Henry nodded and gave the general a half-hearted smile. He had wanted to say something, but the words got caught in his throat. The more the general talked, the less comfortable he felt.

_I hate him already. When we take over the army, Lou, it’s people like this that we’ve got to get rid of first._

“ _As you were!_ ” Brzenska ordered. The men turned and remounted their horses. Henry gave an involuntary sigh, relieved from the withering pressure of having their eyes on him.

“Good luck, Prince Tybur.” said Brzenska, giving the Tybur salute, before turning around and riding off to the front of the group.

“Same to you,” Henry replied, grimacing.

Henry’s family was wealthy, prestigious, powerful, and in control of one of the strongest armies and Titans in the Empire. It was only natural that there would be those who would try to benefit from their success. Therefore, he had learned from very early on how to tell the real from the fake, and, to his dismay, almost everyone he had met seemed to have had some sort of agenda - some sort of plan to gain his trust or that of his siblings - and use it to further their own ends. It was like his last name outweighed his worth as a person. By now, having had years to get used to it, he no longer felt the despair at realizing that he was just a potential means to an end. Instead, it was more of an idle disappointment; almost an expectation, really, that he made of people. He could think of precious few exceptions, and it was the people on that very short list who were the only ones he could bring himself to care about.

Needless to say, Lieutenant General Brzenska had not made a good first impression.

“I’m sorry about Brzenska,” said Colonel Carlisle, riding up to Henry. “He tends to get carried away. We aren’t all as long-winded as him.”

There was nothing about Stephen Carlisle that particularly made him stand out. He was clean-shaven, and of medium height, with fair skin, brown hair, and amber eyes - decidedly average. However, his reputation preceded him. He had risen from poverty and obscurity to take command of the Tybur army’s most prestigious regiment, by appointment of Lucius Tybur himself. 

“It’s fine,” Henry sighed. “I’m used to it.”

“Whatever you say. Follow me.”

They rode off, soon coming across a group of men deployed separately from the rest on the westernmost extremity of the Eldian line. By Henry’s estimate, they were around a thousand strong. The regiment was armed with both rifles and swords. Dragoons were the most versatile unit in the army, and had the capability and training to fight as both cavalry and infantry forces during a battle. They were all impeccably dressed in uniforms similar to his own. The dragoons distinguished themselves with their buttons, which were silver, instead of gold. They also had the privilege of wearing their own spurs - a privilege that nearly every one of them, including Henry, took advantage of. 

As they reached the formation, they were rejoined by Lieutenant Colonel Cordenay. The man, like his commanding officer, was well-built and of average height. His facial hair, however, was anything but average. He had a long, unkempt black beard, uneven at the ends. A thick mustache resided atop his upper lip - so thick, in fact, that it almost covered it completely - and it was difficult to tell where it ended and the beard started. The whole edifice was linked to his equally messy hair through his luscious, curly sideburns. His hazel eyes gave Henry an impression of kindness, but also of keen interest and excitement.

“Prince Tybur! I’m so glad to finally meet you,” he said, eagerly, holding out his hand in greeting.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Henry said curtly, shaking it.

_This is the guy who called out my name,_ he thought, recognizing his voice. Now that they were away from the main body of the cavalry, Henry had eased up a little. He felt more comfortable around these men. They seemed more down-to-earth. Colonel Carlisle, especially, seemed to have the same get-shit-done attitude as both his father and Marshall. It was one that he admired a lot more than whatever was going behind Brzenska’s bushy brows.

“We’re not here to exchange pleasantries, gentlemen. Charles, can I see those orders again, please?”

“Of course, Colonel.”

“Let’s see..The 1st Household Dragoon Regiment is to engage the enemy on the extreme left, with the intent of surrounding the enemy position completely, or otherwise supporting operations to accomplish the same. Lieutenant Henry Tybur is to be treated as an ordinary combatant and not afforded special protection,” he read.

“I don’t understand,” said Charles. “You’re the heir, but they’re letting you take part in a charge?”

“I don’t need ‘special protection.’ Not against the dogs, anyway,” Henry said, confidently. “I’ll be fine.”

Stephen and Charles shared a look.

“...Right,” Stephen said. “If you’re not getting any special treatment, then, since you weren’t put in command of any men I’m putting you at the front of the charge with me.”

“It’d be an honor,” answered Henry, smiling. 

The colonel rode to the front of the formation. Henry and Charles followed, close behind.

“ _Attention!_ ” he boomed, in a voice Henry noted was even louder than Brzenska’s.

“We are joined today by the heir to the Tybur family!”

A hearty cheer went up from the regiment, and several men gave the Tybur salute. The atmosphere this time was different than when he’d first been called out. He felt welcomed by these men. Despite just joining them for the first time, he already felt at home.

“He’ll be fighting alongside us today. It’s been a while since the last time we’ve fought, so don’t go and piss yourselves when you see the enemy, or he’ll go and tell his father.”

Some of the men laughed unenthusiastically, but, otherwise, the regiment was silent. Henry gave a little smirk despite himself at the sea of straight faces before him. It was clear that humor was not the Colonel’s strong suit.

“...Right,” said Stephen, hastily moving on. 

“Our role in this battle today is simple: surround the enemy and attack from behind. The Marleyans lie in wait for us, behind their piles of dirt, with their rusty guns pointed straight ahead. They think they know what’s coming, that they can finally score a win against Eldia, but it is our duty to take these delusions of victory and trample them beneath the hooves of our horses. This is the last gasp of a dying people. A race which has lost to us at every opportunity is now sending out children, the old, and the sick into battle.”

He paused to let the words take their desired effect.

“Any other nation on the planet would be ashamed of what our enemy is now doing without a second thought,” he continued. “They have no shame left. They can’t afford it anymore. We have them cornered at the very edge of the earth, and a victory for Eldia here means the extermination of the Marleyan nation once and for all. But I would advise you not to underestimate our opponent, for the cornered animal in defiance of certain death and defeat, will always lash out moments before the end.”

_Just get on with it already_ , Henry thought impatiently. His legs shook in the saddle from excitement.

“Have faith in our victory. In our country. That is all it will take. Today will be much longer and harder than any of you realize, but at the end, we will emerge the victors and finally crush this nation of dogs into the dust. You have your orders, men -”

Stephen drew his saber and pointed it straight ahead, in the direction of the enemy.

“Now carry them out!”

The two officers kicked their horses into a gallop. Henry did the same. The thunderous sound of thousands of hooves on the tundra was magnified as the rest of the cavalry joined in the charge from the right of the dragoons. Before long, Henry couldn’t even hear his own thoughts over the noise. All that was left was to look forward, throw his cares to the wind, and ride.

\------

  
  



	3. The Men in the Saddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he rides into battle, Henry remembers a scene from his past, before getting hit with the rude realization that the Marleyans aren't the people he thought they were.

**CHAPTER THREE**

_The Men in the Saddle_

\---

_1721_

“Could you pour me some more wine, please?”

Henry dug into his ham rather bemusedly. Marshall Ackerman had never been a heavy drinker, and although he wasn’t necessarily at fault for wanting more of his father’s pristine Vecchienese vintage, by his count the general was on his fifth glass.

Quickly, one of the many servants bustling throughout the vast dining hall answered Marshall’s request, topping off his glass. With a rosy smile and a robust laugh, he hoisted it high, spilling a few drops on the mahogany table and his white dress uniform in the process. Henry felt sorry for the poor servants who would have to wash out the dark red stains the next day.

“To Henry!”

He had lost track of how many times his name had been drank to over the past few hours. Still, he joined in with a smile, as did everyone else seated at the table. 

“To Henry!” came the toast, echoing the drunken general. 

Marshall clapped Henry on the back as he downed his drink - apple cider, at his mother’s insistence. 

“Laukirch Academy, class of…”

“1730,” said Lucius. “That’s not for a while, though.”

An ostentatious crystal chandelier cast golden light across the whole room, from the parquet floors to the vaulted ceiling high overhead. The short guest list was, of course, intentional; Henry liked it better that way. His father had told him about how he had hundreds of guests at _his_ going-away party, but that atmosphere didn’t really seem right to him. He preferred a small circle of people he cared about that also cared about him, rather than the vapid hangers-on that Lucius used to surround himself with.

The six of them - the Ackermans and the Tyburs - occupied a hall fit for six dozen, and enjoyed a dinner that could have fed six hundred. A gargantuan ham served as the main event, encircled by an assortment of greens on a silver platter. In support was a variation of sides, the most prominent of which were mashed potatoes and spiced beef. At Teresa’s request, there was also a full serving bowl of salad that seemed to have gone mostly untouched except for by her. All in all, clearly the Tybur family kitchen staff didn’t get the memo that the night’s festivities were a limited event.

“This really takes me back, you know. When I was a boy like you,” he said, leaning in, “I didn’t get a party like this. You know what I did on my last night as a free man?”

“What’s that, Uncle Marshall?”

“I kept it simple. I went to Sudford and got laid. Best night of my life.”

Henry felt the color rise to his cheeks. Louis looked on, confused.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“It means I bought a girl and-”

“Dad, please,” Teresa said exasperatedly, though with the hint of a smile on her face.

Lucius, on the other hand, grinned like an idiot.

“Maybe you’ve had too much to drink, General. What do you think, Tori? Time to call it a night?”

He looked over expectantly at his wife. She ran a finger absentmindedly through her curly brown hair, gazing at the rays of moonlight filtering in through the casement windows. 

“Victoria?”

“Ah! Sorry,” she said, laughing. “I think so. At this rate, we’ll have nothing left in the cellar.”

“Damn,” Marshall sighed. Henry had to resist the urge to turn away at the scent of his breath, pungent with the stench of alcohol.

“Lucius, are we doing the thing?”

“I don’t know. Are we supposed to give them out now, or after his training?”

“What’re you asking me for?” Marshall slurred. “I say he should get them now. Where’d you put ‘em?”

“What are you talking about?” Henry asked.

_Does he mean..._

“For sons of cavalry officers, it’s traditional to wear their fathers’ spurs once they enlist. Not only will you be wearing one of mine, but Marshall’s giving you one of his.”

Henry felt himself well with pride, and had to force himself not to smile.

_He does! This is it!_

“Damn right,” Marshall said. “I did bring my spurs, right, Emma?”

Teresa snorted.

“She already went off to bed, Dad. An hour ago.”

“Oh…”

Lucius beckoned for a servant.

“Go get the things I left in my study.”

The servant bowed and scurried off to the tune of her flat shoes’ hurried _click-clacking_ on the hardwood floor.

“They were in that box you brought, right?” Teresa asked.

“Yeah.”

“So what’d you do with that?”

“I forget.” 

“Dad…” she groaned, with a mouth full of salad. “The whole way here, you were talking about how important they were. I literally saw you take them out and show them to me. You have them.”

“I think I gave them to John when we got here. Where is he?”

“John’s in the west, running the Charter…” said Victoria, almost confused as to how Marshall could have forgotten that the eldest of the Tybur children was on a completely different continent. “Didn’t you give them to Lucius?”

“Yes, he did,” said Lucius with a smirk. “Don’t worry. I have them.”

“See, Teresa? Don’t doubt me. And don’t talk with food in your mouth,” Marshall said, downing a heaping helping of mashed potatoes.

As if on cue, the servant returned, holding two elaborately decorated wooden boxes which she set down on the table in front of Lucius.

“Excuse me, miss,” Marshall said, gesturing to his empty glass. “Could I get some more?”

“I’m cutting you off, Marshall. Sorry.”

The general sighed theatrically, his downcast face bearing the abject despair of not getting to drink another drop of the best wine in the Eldian Empire.

“Alright, Henry,” Lucius said. “You’re familiar with the Presentation of the Spurs, right?”

“I’ve heard about it, yeah.”

Quite the understatement; Henry had been waiting for this moment ever since the day he first made up his mind to join the cavalry. Although he played it cool, he couldn’t stop his right leg from shaking habitually out of excited anticipation.

“The ceremony is fairly commonplace. Many former cavalrymen have sons who want to follow in their footsteps; that in itself is nothing new. What sets this one apart is who these spurs belong to. I can imagine that not many of your fellow privates will be able to say to the quartermaster ‘I’m set, I’ve got Lucius Tybur and Marshall Ackerman’s already’ when he tries to give you the standard-issue shit that they give everyone else.”

“Language!” Victoria cut in fiercely, covering Louis’s ears.

“Sorry! Standard-issue _stuff_ . Maybe I’ve had a bit too much to drink myself. Anyway, you know what I mean. The Presentation turns the mere idea of our accomplishments into something _real._ Between them, these spurs have seen countless thousands of kilometers. They’ve seen every domain on the continent. Marshall’s have even gone beyond. To keep count of the amount of battles we’ve fought with these on would be impossible. Many cavalrymen spend their entire careers in pursuit of glory and honor so that their spurs are worthy of being passed on; I am proud to say that I have never had such a need. From the very beginning, I’ve been an extraordinary man, and I am proud to say that I have been blessed with an even more extraordinary son who will take my spurs today, my Titan in six years, and forge an even greater legacy with them.”

Spurs were the one part of the cavalryman’s uniform that weren’t covered by any military regulations; in short, as long as you had spurs, it didn’t matter how they looked, provided they were actually functional. They were made up of two main parts. The main body of the spur - the part that bent around the rider’s heel - was known as the yoke. Protruding from behind the heel was a small segment known as the neck that attached to the rowel. The rowel was the pointed wheel at the end and the part that actually came into use. When riding a horse, the rider would use his spurs to guide the horse, subtly applying pressure on its sides with the rowels according to the direction desired. Mastering their use without hurting or distressing the horse was considered the mark of an expert cavalryman, and it was going to be one of the first things Henry would learn at Laukirch after he completed his military service in the south.

Lucius opened the boxes. In one rested an ornate black spur, covered in assorted dirt and grime, that nevertheless didn’t manage to diminish the luster of the red diamonds inlaid across the heel band and the center of the rowel. An embellished snake design made from gold leaf stretched across the yoke, with the head at one end and the tail at the other. The flecks of filth scattered in isolated pockets beneath its scales belied its age. 

Its counterpart was much simpler. It was unadorned and made of silver, which had the effect of making the dirt and wear it had amassed over the years stand out that much more. Both of them had the emblem of the Eldian empire engraved onto one side of the neck - an eagle surrounded by a nine-pointed star - but only Marshall’s had the thin flakes of what appeared to be dried blood on it.

“They’re dirty,” Louis pointed out insightfully.

“That’s the point. If they were all nice and shiny, then it wouldn’t mean anything.” Marshall said. 

Having been deprived of his drink, the jovial smile he had worn just minutes ago was gone. In its place was an expression Henry couldn’t entirely read. He was still drunk - any man would be after downing the amount of alcohol he had - but it wasn’t the happy drunk that he’d been before. It was the kind of drunk you got when you wanted to forget something. If he wasn’t around the Tyburs there was no telling what Marshall would be like. It was a miracle he was able to even speak coherently.

“Right,” said Lucius, noticing the change in his friend’s demeanor. “Marshall, are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Right, then.” Lucius unsheathed the solid gold dagger that Henry knew he kept on him as a Holder, encrusted with a myriad of jewels on the pommel and guard. The grip was made of ivory, and the hilt inscribed with Eldian characters that read “Lucius Tybur.” Altogether, Henry could say with confidence that it was the single most expensive-looking thing he had ever seen in his life.

He took the spurs out of the boxes and laid them on the table. With the very tip of the dagger, Lucius pricked his index finger. As he drew blood, he smeared it on his spur’s eagle emblem, not stopping until the whole thing was covered evenly. He then passed the blade to Marshall, who repeated the ritual with his spur, wincing as he did so.

A thin jet of steam rose from Lucius’s finger as he drew it back from his spur. In seconds, the little cut was closed completely.

_Amazing,_ Henry thought, his emerald eyes filled with wonder. _It’s like he never even cut himself in the first place._

Marshall, on the other hand, shook his hand repeatedly in pain.

“I think I went too deep,” he said, grimacing. 

“You’ll be fine, Marshall. After all, pain is just-”

“-an illusion, transient and unique in its insignificance,” Henry finished, almost automatically, completing his father’s quotation of the Fourth King.

Lucius smiled with pride.

“We couldn’t really have raised him any better, Tori.”

He stood up, walking over to the other side of the table where Henry was seated, and handed him the spurs.

“It will be some time before you can wear these, but, once you do, wear them proudly. Wear them knowing that they set you apart, on a different course from the others whom you will fight alongside. It is because you are my son, Henry, that when you become the next Tybur to draw his saber and wage war from the saddle, you will also become the greatest.”

\---

_1724_

  
  


It was no exaggeration to say that Henry’s entire life had been leading up to this moment. Countless hours of training and drilling in the south had molded him from a starry-eyed recruit into a new man. Battle, at this point, was still unfamiliar to him, but that didn’t matter. They were just Marleyans, after all.

Before him was a wide-open plain, hemmed in by thick pine forests some distance to the west. It was exactly like the map had depicted. The air was thick with the condensed breath of men and horse, but he could still see the enemy. Conspicuous in their bright red, they were arrayed in what seemed to be a completely straight line as far as he could see. They had put up packed piles of earth, which they had deployed behind, guns at the ready. In front of the earthworks were

“Stakes!” 

Brzenska’s booming voice cut through the icy air. 

“They’ve thrown up stakes! Follow my lead!”

Two long trumpet blasts rang out. The Eldian cavalry used simple signals like this to communicate basic directional instructions; “two long” was the signal to turn left, a command which would set them on a course parallel to the Marleyan lines while keeping them at only the most extreme range of their infantry.

He saw a sword rise above the rest a little ways off to the east, pointing westward - to the forest. Upon closer inspection, Brzenska’s assessment wasn’t entirely correct. Instead of stakes, there was a long row of logs, with wooden spikes protruding from them at all angles. Functionally, however, they were the same, and Henry cursed himself for letting that kiss-ass notice the obstacles before him.

_So much for all that training,_ he thought, smiling sheepishly.

“To the west! We’re going through the forest!” came Stephen’s cry.

The dragoons made a clean turn to the left, executing the order flawlessly. Henry felt himself well ever more with pride as, out of the corner of his eye, he watched thousands of horsemen execute the order with equal precision.

_If I had to guess, we’ve got about a little more than a quarter mile on them. It looks like they don’t have cannons, so they can’t really do anything to us right now. If they leave their position, either we’ll run them down, or the infantry will get them when they advance. They can’t fight in the forest, either. There’s no possible situation in which they win this._

The smile on Henry’s face turned to a grin, as he saw the outcome of the battle play out in his head. His father’s words from that day three years ago stuck with him now:

“You will also become the greatest.” 

It was a statement that Henry had kept with him throughout that year in the south, and used as fuel to keep him going through even the hardest and most boring parts of his training. It had once been motivation for him, but he now accepted it as fact. Although his father said he would be the greatest Tybur, Henry knew he could do better than that. He would become the greatest soldier in history. He would surpass the men whose spurs he now wore, and the name Henry Tybur would become even more legendary than that of his father’s. 

The path to glory was wide open. All that stood in his way was a small obstacle, the simple but pressing question that had been on Henry’s mind since even before they turned:

_Why aren’t they shooting?_

Surely the Marleyans could at least _try_ to hit them. Sitting back and watching the Eldians ride right past them within the range of their rifles was not a move that a people on the brink of extinction would make.

“What are they doing?” Henry asked Charles, as he rode up alongside him.

“I’m not sure. Perhaps they don’t have enough ammunition to risk shooting at us. We’re at the far range of where they can hit, but still…”

The cavalrymen taunted the Marleyans, as they realized that the enemy was holding their fire.

“Come on, dogs! What are you waiting for?”

“Start shooting already!”

They rode together in a tense silence. The uncertainty of not knowing his enemy’s next move gnawed at Henry, eating away at the comforting thoughts of quick victory he had indulged himself in just moments before.

_Maybe they really don’t have the ammunition, but what if they do? What if they have cannons? Something else up their sleeve?_

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, a feeling which was only reinforced as he watched the Marleyan lines, complete with the spiked logs in front, stretch even further alongside them.

_Does it go out to the forest?_ Henry thought. _There’s no way…_

Stephen rode up to meet the two of them near the front of the formation.

“It would seem our enemy is more prepared than we thought,” he said. 

“They can prepare all they want. It won’t save them,” Henry said. 

_After all, they’re just Marleyans…_

_Right._

Surely, the Marleyans weren’t a threat. So far, all Henry had seen was a long row of dirt and spikes. That was it. There was nothing tangible to justify the apprehension growing inside him.

“Henry, have you ever fought against Marley?” said Stephen.

“No, Colonel.”

“Do you know what these people have done to survive?”

“No, Colonel.”

“Then don’t pass judgment on them. This is your first battle against the Marleyans. Underestimating them will make it your last. They fight tooth and nail for every scrap of land because they have no choice. For over seventeen hundred years the Marleyans have done nothing but lose at every single opportunity. Still, they fight on. Why is this, Tybur? Why do they keep fighting?”

“Survival?”

“That’s part of the reason, but it’s not the whole truth. They don’t keep at it for something as basic as just survival. There is another reason. It’s a cause far closer to their hearts, a cause embedded in the very soul of the Marleyan nation: hatred of the Eldians. They fight on because they cling to the hope of victory, because they know that winning against us just once erases the effects of centuries of defeat and humiliation. One victory. That’s all it takes to turn their purpose from fighting for survival to fighting for the extermination of the Eldian people. That is why victory, even here and now, is necessary, but let me tell you one thing: that does not make it assured.”

“Even if they win one battle, that doesn’t mean they can win them all,” Henry said, protesting.

“You attended Laukirch, right?” asked Charles.

“...Yes.”

“You are familiar with Eldia’s record on the battlefield, yes?”

“I am, Lieutenant Colonel.”

Unbroken. Eldia hadn’t lost a battle on the continent since the rise of the Titans.

“Do you know what all of our victories have in common?”

Henry thought about it for a moment before it finally clicked.

_Titans._

The Eldian military had been remarkably small in the past because Eldia chose what wars to fight in the first place. No one dared attack them outright. When Eldia chose to wage war, it did so with Titans.

Eldia had once maintained a standing army of untold thousands of them. Those who had been convicted of capital crimes such as murder or treason would be transformed by the King using the power of the Founder. Once transformed, they lay dormant until Eldia sought once again to expand, at which point the King would unleash them against this new, unfortunate enemy. Nothing and no one could survive a Titan attack. The “real” military had only come to prominence as Eldia began expanding beyond the continent a few centuries ago, waging colonial wars too far from home for the Founder to care about.

“We used Titans,” Henry said, as he began to put the pieces together in his head. 

“Look around you, Tybur,” said Stephen. “Do you see any Titans?”

“No, Colonel, I don’t. My father is a Titan, though-”

“That’s not what I mean. Pure Titans. The kind we used in the standing army before it got disbanded. The kind that eats people. Where are they?”

He let the question sit for a little before continuing.

“The reasons for Eldia’s millennia of success are nowhere to be found. This battle will be fought by humans and decided by humans. The difference between the two is a simple one. Humans, unlike Titans, can be killed. It is this one factor that leaves this whole battle to chance, whether we like it or not, and, I, Prince Tybur, am not a gambling man.”

The three of them rode on in silence as Henry mulled over the Colonel’s words.

_What difference does it make between my dad and the Pure Titans? It doesn’t matter which of the two we have; they can’t hope to stop either of them._

The dragoons closed in on the forest. The cover of the thick pines obscured, for the most part, the rising sun, save for the few defiant shreds of light that shone through the mess of branches overhead. 

Three shrill, quick trumpet blasts - the signal to turn right - echoed throughout the forest. Henry, Charles, Stephen, and the rest of the formation obeyed, pulling off the turn even as they rushed through the dense thicket.

Henry set his gaze forward, focusing not on the trees, or the soldiers in front of him, but the outcome of total victory that he had already realized in his head. He thought of his father’s Titan crushing scores of Marleyans with each earth-shattering blow of its massive hammer, with even a mere footstep claiming the lives of dozens more.

The confident smile returned to Henry’s face.

_This battle was over before it started. “All up to chance?” We have Titans, they don’t. The only chance involved is a one hundred percent chance of us winning._

Henry couldn’t help but laugh at what Stephen had said. It was clear now. The mere idea that Marley could win was preposterous. It wasn’t man versus man, it was man versus _Titan_ \- and at no point in the eighteen centuries since Titans had appeared had man won that battle.

“Something funny, Tybur?” 

“No, Colonel,” came Henry’s reply, practically a reflex after years of having it drilled into him. 

“I don’t know what you could find so amusing at a time like this, but, if I were you, Tybur?”

Henry heard a new sound, distinct from the hoofbeats and the horses’ breath that he’d grown accustomed to. Rustling in the forest undergrowth.

“I wouldn’t be laughing.”

In an instant, the sound of gunfire cut through the midmorning air. Henry turned from its source, and watched in disbelieving horror as a lead ball ripped cleanly through Charles’s head.

  
  
  
  



	4. Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry and Teresa come face to face with the harsh realities of war.

**CHAPTER FOUR**

_Children_

Teresa Ackerman would forever remember the 29th of February as the day she first killed someone.

She hadn’t meant to pull the trigger; it was almost a reflex that inspired her to line up the rifle and blow the Marleyan soldier’s brains out from point blank range. As her fellow infantry charged the lines, easily surmounting the stakes and raised earthworks to begin the bloody melee with the Marleyans, she stood and took in the scene for a moment. The body with the hole through its skull was never far from her gaze.

_What did I just do? Did I just -_

“Don’t just stand there! You’ll get yourself killed!” a soldier called out to her, before he himself took a bullet to the neck and collapsed. Teresa found herself once again reduced to the role of passive spectator, watching as the man, just seconds ago flesh and blood before her, was reduced to another casualty on the Eldian register.

She was terrified.

The air was rife with the sounds of gunfire. Just a couple meters in front of her, the Eldians had finished taking the first Marleyan lines. In cascading waves they charged forth, bayonets fixed, dealing death in a scale Teresa could never have imagined. Her sapphire eyes wide, she could do nothing but keep watching. The rifle grew heavier in her hands, brought down by the weight of what she had just done.

_This is war. Killing. Death._

She looked back at the dead Marleyan, lying face-down on the frozen earth.

_I never thought it’d feel like this. What the hell…_

Teresa dropped her gun. It took her a second before, with shaky hands and uneven breath, she went and bent down to pick it back up. 

_What the hell is wrong with you?_ , she admonished herself. _You’re an Ackerman. The family of the greatest warriors in the world. This is how you act in your first battle? You’re pathetic. Get a hold of yourself._

Teresa closed her eyes, blocking out the scenes of death and carnage before her as the Eldians continued their advance. Although it had only been a few moments, her fellow soldiers had already pushed the Marleyans to the point where she no longer had to worry about being taken out by an errant bullet. However, the curious sideways glances she got from a few of the infantry conveyed the notion that perhaps standing completely still with a battle raging in front of her wasn’t the best idea.

_Calm down. This is a battlefield. You wanted to fight, right? You made a promise. When you put on that uniform and grabbed that gun - no, even before that - you signed up for this. Pull yourself the fuck together._

Her breathing steadied, and she found a more sure holding on her weapon.

_Right. I’ve got to get moving._

She took a few steps, and then started running, closing the distance between herself and the Marleyan lines. By now, the Marleyans had fallen back to a second line of earthworks, built up steeper and sturdier than the first line. They stood in wait for the Eldian advance. Carried by their initial success, the Eldians pressed on, only to be shot down in droves before they could even reach the Marleyan position. Still, the Marleyans had taken enough losses to the point that they couldn’t keep up a constant stream of fire, so it wasn’t long before the first Eldians made contact in isolated points along the line. 

Teresa charged forward, and stopped just short of the earthworks themselves. Before her lay the bodies of three Eldian soldiers. She forced herself not to look as she stepped over their bodies. Peeking over the earthworks, she couldn’t see any of the enemy. Even as she looked around, all the Marleyans she could see were either dead or locked in battle.

_Good. I’m good to go, then._

She began to climb over the earthworks. Raising one arm, then the other, she lifted her head fully over the works as she brought her lower body up. 

Teresa cast a glance downward, and found herself staring directly down the barrel of a rifle. 

In a moment of superhuman agility, she jerked her head back just as the enemy soldier fired his weapon. If she had been just a fraction of a second later, she knew she would have lost her life.

_How did I miss him?_ she thought, as she tumbled down to the grass below. _I’m such an idiot. Why am I even here? What am I doing?_

The Marleyan soldier appeared over her. The raggedy epaulets on his shoulders suggested he was someone of officer rank, an assumption supported by the richly decorated black and gold flintlock pistol that was now pointed at her face.

“Don’t move. Before you die, girl, I have a question for you.”

_How does he know?_

“You’re not fooling anyone in that costume. Now, answer me this: how did you dodge my shot?”

_I don’t know how I did it, but I don’t think he’ll be happy with that answer...still, better to be honest._

“I-I don’t know,” she said unsteadily.

“You don’t know? I am one of the finest marksmen in the Marleyan army. _I don’t miss_. You avoided that shot. In that moment, you moved faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. No man alive could do what I just saw. I am honored to get the chance to fight against someone like you.”

Teresa’s heart felt like it was going to burst from her chest. 

_Is this how it ends? Right here?_

Her face hardened, as, despite her pounding pulse and mounting fear, she felt a newfound resolve build up inside her. 

_No. No matter what, I’ve got to get back home._

She thought of her father and the Tyburs, briefly, steeling herself. 

“May I have your name, girl?”

“Teresa.”

“A beautiful name. Fitting for someone like y-”

“Ackerman.”

The man froze.

“Y-you don’t mean…”

The expression on the man’s face turned from cold confidence to pure, unadulterated horror. If Teresa wasn’t so scared in the moment, she would have enjoyed watching the transformative effect those three syllables had on her enemy’s countenance. Perhaps she would have added a witty remark or insult at the sight of the Marleyan’s realization that he was just a few meters away from the daughter of the man his people feared most in the world.

But there was no time for that now.

Casting aside her fear, she took advantage of the opportunity granted by her enemy’s inaction. Teresa grabbed her rifle, aimed it straight at his chest, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

_What?_

_You’re kidding. I didn’t reload? I’m gonna die because I forgot to reload my fucking gun? Are you serious?_

The shot - or, rather, the lack thereof - seemed to restore the Marleyan’s confidence, as he realized that maybe a little Eldian girl was nothing to be afraid of. His composure somewhat restored, he cocked his pistol, and took careful aim at Teresa’s head.

“Teresa _Ackerman_.”

The “Ackerman” came out strangely; the officer stretched out the first “A” in Ackerman unnaturally long, but the rest of the name came out short, almost comically so. It was like he was in a rush to get the word out of his mouth. 

“You’re the daughter of that demon. I owe it to my country to kill you here, _devil_ ,” he spat, his voice inflected with hatred. The officer took slow but sure steps towards her, and Teresa inched back.

“That’ll do you no good.”

_No. It can’t end like this. Not here. I made a promise, a promise that, no matter what, I have to keep. So..._

_I can’t die!_

Every part of her coursed with a strange energy. She felt it stream through each individual vein in her body; it was warm, like sunlight, but also carried with it a jolting shock. It reached her heart first. She felt herself calm down instantly, and, as it reached her lungs, her breath became natural and even again. It surged through her arms all the way through her fingertips, and soon reached her toes - she felt a new strength emerge in her limbs as the energy dispersed harmlessly into the earth beneath her. 

Then it reached her brain. 

In an instant, everything became clear. The energy turned from a stream into a cascading wave as it rushed through her head. With wonder, she felt a greater degree of control over herself than ever before; it was like she could feel each muscle and nerve in her body surging with strength.

The Marleyan pulled the trigger. Teresa watched the bullet as it emerged from his pistol, and, with inhuman speed, ducked to the ground. 

“What?” the Marleyan cried, incredulous.

“There’s a promise I have to keep,” Teresa said. “So I have to live to see tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

He fumbled for his powder bag, trying to reload his pistol. A good soldier could do it in twenty seconds. Teresa wasn’t going to give him the chance.

With a savage cry, she broke the rifle in half over her leg. She charged him with the severed stock. Before he could even do anything, she was over him, her improvised weapon held high in her left hand. 

“...How?” the Marleyan asked, his face still wearing an expression of pure disbelief. 

“I’m sorry!”

Teresa reached over her head, and, with strength a normal man could only dream of, bashed the man’s head in with the stock. Letting out a cathartic scream, she tackled the man to the ground, and brought the weapon down again and again to the point where the man couldn’t be easily identified as such. With the level of strength Teresa was bludgeoning him with, the man’s skull cracked like an eggshell at each point. 

Even after he drew his last breath, she kept going.

And going.

And going.

She didn’t stop until the man’s head was an unrecognizable mess, like a smashed pumpkin that stained the grass red with its spilled contents. 

Teresa looked upon her handiwork, quickly turned away, and threw up her breakfast.

_What have I done?_

_What am I doing?_

\---

Charles Cordenay’s lifeless body tumbled off his horse and quickly disappeared beneath the hooves of the Eldian cavalry.

“Lieutenant Colonel!” Henry cried out, still half in a state of disbelief. The man he’d been speaking with just moments ago was now a lifeless, trampled corpse, his final breath taken hundreds of leagues from home.

And it was a Marleyan who had shot him.

“Keep moving, Tybur!” Stefan called, as the cavalry continued to advance. 

Dazed, Henry began to realize what was happening. He looked around him, and, for a brief moment, felt relieved that the expressions of his fellow cavalrymen conveyed the same feelings of confusion that he felt. As the Marleyans began to emerge from the forest undergrowth, guns at the ready, his feelings of confusion and nervous agitation transformed into self-doubt and fear.

_...This is what they wanted,_ Henry realized. _They can’t hope to match us in a battle on open ground, so they goaded us into the forest to slow us down. We thought we’d be able to surround them, but we played right into their hands..._

_Breathe. They’re just Marleyans. This might not be what we planned, but it’s what I trained for. Let’s show the dogs what we’re made of._

The Marleyans let loose a concentrated volley of gunfire. Dozens of cavalrymen fell to the ground, with either their horse or themselves having been shot. They then rushed from the thicket, charging the horsemen farthest to the outside. With bayonets fixed, they went for the horses, stabbing them in the flank or leg and bringing both horse and rider to the ground. 

Henry drew his saber from his sheath. A Marleyan rushed from the forest cover, charging forward with a guttural battle cry. Henry leaned over the side of his horse and slashed the soldier’s throat. Although he just barely managed to reach his enemy with the edge of his saber, he was satisfied as he watched the man collapse.

_My first kill!_

He grinned. Another Marleyan charged at him. Henry shot him square in the shoulder with his pistol, and he fell to the ground, clutching his wound.

_What was I so scared of? These guys go down like nothing._

Judging by the triumphant cries of his fellow cavalrymen, he could tell that the rest of the Eldian army was meeting with similar results. From far ahead, a single trumpet blast cut through the sounds of battle: the signal to move forward at all speed. The Eldians obeyed the order with characteristic speed and efficiency, pulling away from the few remaining Marleyans with ease. Henry could see their destination - the plain on the other side of the forest - begin to open up before him. Only a few more minutes of hard riding and they’d be right behind the Eldian lines, ready to close the encirclement and surround the Marleyans completely.

_That was nothing. What was that, a couple hundred men? Is that all they’ve got? We’re already back to moving at all speed. At all speed…_

Henry’s mind started racing.

_Because we slowed down…of course, we had to, to deal with the dogs..._

_Oh, no._

“A fucking cannon!?” Stefan exclaimed. They would be the last words he would ever speak, as, before he could even react, a cannonball took his head clean off.

“Colonel!” Henry and his fellow dragoons cried out simultaneously. In an instant, a new volley of cannon fire came from straight ahead. It wasn’t a single large projectile this time, but rather an assortment of smaller ammunition dispersed over a wide area. 

Grapeshot.

The munitions cut through the charging cavalry like a knife through melted butter. Henry tried to turn away, but his horse stumbled and fell to the ground, sending Henry tumbling down with it. Just as they fell came the sound of another volley. This time, the artillery was joined by the Marleyan foot soldiers, and the deadly ensemble combined to take out most of the Eldian cavalry still engaged in the charge forward.

_Shit!_

As Henry hit the ground, he felt a searing pain in his right leg. 

_Did I get shot? What was that?_

Grunting, Henry rolled over behind a fallen log, both to dodge the oncoming gunfire and to examine his wound. A small, jagged iron spike was embedded deep in his thigh, and it seemed that as he moved his leg around it got both deeper and more painful.

_A caltrop. So this is what got my horse._

As he surveyed his surroundings, he noticed a field of similar objects, laid out in front of the cavalry. He could do nothing but watch as dozens of Eldian horses and riders fell to the ground and met their end from the continuous barrage of enemy fire.

_Should I pull it out? What should I do?_

_...Fuck! It hurts! This is bad!_

A bullet whizzed right past him, kicking up splinters as it hit the log only a few inches from Henry’s head.

_I can’t stay here. That’s for sure. And I can’t move with this damn thing in my leg._

Henry braced himself. He knew that the next few seconds would be the longest and most excruciating in his life.

_Better to hurt than to die_ , he rationalized, grimacing.

Grabbing the caltrop by its outermost leg, Henry breathed in, slowly and deeply. He tried to look at some of his surroundings to take his mind off the task at hand, but all he could see around him were desperate scenes of carnage as the Eldians tried desperately to fight back against the overwhelming Marleyan attack. They were, needless to say, unsuccessful. In isolated pockets, some of the soldiers - mostly dragoons, Henry noted, allowing himself a small bit of pride - grouped together, fighting back successive waves of Marleyan infantry. However, there were far more blue-coated cavalry lying dead or bleeding than there were keeping up the fight.

He looked up at the sky, tinged with the bright blues of a Marleyan midmorning. A few tufts of cloud had developed around the sun, casting it in a hazy white shroud and obscuring somewhat the light it cast down on the battlefield below. It was among these half-formed and indistinct shadows that Henry closed his eyes and finally built up the resolve to pull the damn thing out of his leg.

_Right. Here goes!_

Henry cried out in pain - no, “pain” was too simple a word to describe what Henry felt in that instant. Far too simple. It was, simply put, the worst agony, a sensation so unique in its pure awfulness that it made the two or three seconds Henry spent pulling the caltrop out seem like two or three lifetimes. On the end that had punctured him was a hook-like protrusion that took out a sizable chunk of flesh from his leg and a good part of the fabric from his breeches as he pulled it out, and opened up a wound even deeper than the one he had already received. 

Blood began coursing from the injury in quantities Henry could scarcely believe. Although the removal of the spike had dulled the edge of the pain somewhat, it seemed that, as every second passed by, it redoubled in its low and throbbing intensity. Henry’s torturous, excruciated groans were lost among the sounds of death and warfare around him. 

_Got… to… move…! Come on!_

Henry began to feel lightheaded, and he found he couldn’t muster up the strength to move himself from his position. Every time he tried to move his leg, a shooting pain coursed through the afflicted thigh; a pain so terrible that he felt, in that moment, that death would be preferable to feeling it further.

_Let me...Let me stop the bleeding first. Right._

He removed his blue outer coat and tied it around his leg by the sleeves, squeezing it as tightly as he could to prevent any further blood loss. Standing up or walking was impossible in his current state, so Henry began to crawl. He crawled through the little islands of moss and shrubs on the forest floor, behind the trees, and past the fallen bodies of his fellow soldiers. He crawled through the pain, despite it, in defiance of it. He crawled to escape, even though he didn’t know where to escape to. All he knew was to keep moving, because if he stopped now, he didn’t think he’d be able to start again.

At that moment, just as Henry pushed himself to his absolute limit, his coat came loose. The bleeding resumed in earnest, and Henry, finally, collapsed in defeat.

_Let the world take me,_ he thought, tears welling in his eyes.

_I’ve lost my first battle. I’ve lost my last battle. Dad…Louis...everyone…I’ve let you down._

Henry’s world began to fade to black. Henry thought he heard the thud of hoofbeats on the forest floor, but, at this point, they could just as easily be another volley of Marleyan gunfire.

_Let them be gunshots. I’d rather be shot then die of blood loss. I’m going to die, so at least make it a death that they can respect._

He reached forward, vainly, mustering the last of his strength. All he could manage to do was grasp at the air in front of him once or twice before his arm admitted defeat.

The last thing Henry saw before he passed out was the bolt of lightning crashing down from the sky some distance ahead, bathing the forest in its golden glow.


	5. The Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone from Lucius's past - a someone he'd much rather forget - makes a reappearance, as the fighting between Eldia and Marley finally comes to an end. Teresa questions what she believes in, and Henry questions why a seventeen year-old girl with no prior medical experience is cutting his leg off.

**CHAPTER FIVE**

_ The Reunion _

Teresa had lost count of the number of people she’d killed that day. After a while, she had just stopped thinking entirely about what she was doing. Her body had learned the ritual of taking a shot, pulling the trigger, and reloading her rifle well enough by now. It became an automatic process - the more she killed, the easier it became to kill even more. She let her mind wander far away from the battlefield as her hands busied themselves with the business of murder.

_ It’s morning. Somewhere on the Catswick Coast. I’m standing on the shore. The sand feels nice between my toes. _

A bullet whizzed by Teresa’s head, grazing her cheek. She fired back, but missed her shot, and crouched down to avoid the reprisal from the line of Marleyans about two hundred meters in front of her.

_ The water’s cold.  _

An Eldian soldier to her right took a shot to the chest and collapsed. 

_ Dad’s here. So is Mom. The Tyburs, too. _

Teresa reached into her ammunition pouch, and pulled out a powder cartridge. She set her rifle down, keeping it up vertically with the stock to the ground. Biting the cartridge open, she poured its contents down the muzzle with a steady hand even as men died around her.

_ I can smell the salt in the air.  _

Carefully, she inserted the ball into her weapon, pushing it down with a ramrod.

_ What a nice dream… _

Teresa cocked her rifle and pulled the trigger, hitting a Marleyan in his chest. She felt nothing as she watched the man keel over, blood spraying from the wound.

The infantry found itself drawn deeper into the Marleyan positions, and Teresa with them. Even after breaking through the second Marleyan line, the enemy kept putting up fierce resistance. Although they struggled to organize themselves into formation, and even after the Eldians hit them with a fresh barrage of cannon fire, they kept fighting on. 

_ What the hell? _

Sure enough, Teresa saw it. The golden thunderbolt lit up the scenes of carnage around her, and announced itself with a resounding boom. It struck a spot around a mile ahead - the exact location was obscured by the fleeing figures of the Marleyan army, but Teresa estimated it was somewhere in the enemy camp. 

The crack of thunder gave her a rude awakening from the trance-like state she had been in for the better part of the battle. What came after was something Teresa would never forget. 

Horror.

It wasn’t the same fear she had felt earlier that day. That feeling was but a drop compared to the pure terror that surged and crashed through her body like the waves of an ocean, flooding her with a chill as profound as the warmth of the energy that had saved her life.

Teresa didn’t believe in God. Most Eldians subscribed to the same faith; there was the king, the divine representative of God on Earth, the Founder Ymir, the matron deity of the Eldian people, and God himself, who created the world and all the life in it. She had been disillusioned with the idea of religion in general for a while now. It was difficult to put her faith into something that she couldn’t see, and she found it hard to believe that the soul would outlive the body in an immaterial afterlife. 

The Titans were described in scripture as God’s perfect miracle, and were at the center of most ceremonies and devotion. It was commonly held that the existence of Titans was proof that God favored the Eldians over all others, and the fact that only Eldians had the power to transform surely was evidence enough that they were the superior race - the apex of the human species. Of course, Teresa had never seen a Titan, so it was only natural for her to be skeptical of the stories she’d heard of the powers that wiped out entire nations in the blink of an eye and conquered an entire continent. 

Until now.

A ball of glowing golden light, even more powerful and intense than the lightning that had preceded it, emerged from above what Teresa was now sure was the main Marleyan camp. She watched, frozen, as a massive skeleton materialized from thin air. In an instant it was covered by innumerable fibers of flesh, which wove themselves into sinew and muscles. Skin soon covered the muscle fibers underneath. Light brown hair sprouted from its scalp in long, uneven strands, and as a face formed over the skull, its eyes lit up with a menacing blue glow. Except for the lack of any lips on its face, leaving its sharp and predatory teeth exposed, the Titan had an uncannily human anatomy. This was the aspect that Teresa feared the most. It looked so similar, but she understood that its gargantuan size - at least ten meters high, although she felt that was a low estimate - and impossible musculature rippling with supernatural strength were far beyond the realm of rationality.

As the Titan finished taking its shape, she offered up a silent prayer.  _ God, Ymir, someone...if you’re there, let this nightmare be over. Please. I’ve been through so much today already… _

_...Wait. Why isn’t it moving? _

It was a fair question. The Titan had taken its final form, and was now standing completely still. The Eldians stopped gunning down the fleeing Marleyans, and looked up at the towering figure, beholding the sight with a mix of awe and dread. 

_ Only Eldians can transform,  _ Teresa thought, mustering up her limited knowledge on Titan transformation.  _ Why did it appear in the Marleyan camp, then? Why isn’t it attacking them? What is going on? _

A second bolt of lightning crashed down from the sky, this time directly behind Teresa. This time, there was no doubt in her mind as to what - or,  _ who _ \- it was.

_ Uncle Lucius! _

Although she had never seen the War Hammer Titan, its appearance was distinctive enough that Teresa recognized it right away. It appeared in a similar fashion as its counterpart at the Marleyan camp. Flesh and bones took shape out of thin air into the form of a ten to fifteen-meter Titan, but the differences between the two became clear as its skin appeared. It was bluish-white, which gave it the appearance of a massive ice sculpture towering malevolently over its surroundings. Its face set it apart from all the rest of the Titans Teresa had heard about. Although its face had, for the most part, the basic skeletal structure of a human’s, it had no visible mouth or nostrils, and its ears were just barely discernible from under the skin. The only openings in its face were four slits, evenly divided on either side symmetrically across its nose. The Titan’s cerulean eyes glared from out of the top two, which gave Teresa the impression of the eye holes in an old knight’s visor. Both pairs of openings in the Titan’s face exposed the soft, dark red flesh underneath. It looked like blood on snow. 

As the War Hammer finished taking shape, Lucius Tybur put the finishing touches on his transformation. A series of incisions opened up in its face, accentuating the areas around its cheek bones, under the eyes, and all along the bridge of its nose. The lowermost set of these patterns of skin and flesh descended down its neck from either side of its jaw, coming to an end as they met its collarbone. It would be beautiful, if it weren’t so terrifying.

The two Titans, now fully formed, dominated the landscape. The fighting had long since stopped, and all eyes were on them, waiting to see what would happen next. On both sides, it was clear that the sight of a Titan was a new one for the soldiers. As if a ceasefire had been declared, both Eldians and Marleyans took in the spectacle, ignoring the cries of protest from their officers and the mutual hatred that flowed through their blood. It was no longer their battle to fight.

“ _ Demetri, is that you? _ ” 

The question echoed across the silent battlefield. Teresa could vaguely recognize the voice as belonging to Lucius, but it was so unnaturally deep and distorted that she’d have no idea who it was if he wasn’t a part of her family in all but blood.

_ They can talk…? _

A low growl was the only reply he received. The other Titan’s steps shook the earth as he approached Lucius.

“ _ Who am I kidding? I know you’re in there, you bastard. _ ”

_ Does Uncle Lucius...know whoever’s in that other Titan?  _ Teresa thought, thoroughly confused. 

No answer.

“ _You won’t talk to me? Don’t wanna catch up with an old friend? I’m hurt, Mitya. Truly. Don’t worry, though. Once I rip you out from there, it’ll be just like old times. You’ll be doing a lot of talking to me and Marshall before the day’s through._ _I’ll try not to kill you, but that shouldn’t be hard. After all, Mitya, I’m used to holding back against you._ ”

This last provocation seemed to spark something in his enemy. It charged him on all fours, like an animal, crying out in bestial rage as it closed the distance. The Titan seemed to be hellbent on one thing, and one thing only: kill Lucius Tybur. To this end it ignored all else, crushing friend and foe alike. The unfortunate men who happened to be caught in its path were flattened by its hands and feet before they could even try and make a run for it.

“Everyone, get a move on! It’s not safe here anymore!” a young man’s voice cried out above the carnage. Still absorbed in watching the Titans, it took a second for the words to register in Teresa’s head.

“...Right!” she called back.

_ He’s right. I’ve got to get out of here. _

Teresa hurriedly slung her rifle around her shoulder and made a run for it, making sure to head in the opposite direction of the Titan as it rushed ever closer to her position. Lucius was standing right outside the Eldian camp, but in a spot that put her not far from the Titan’s path. As she ran, she took a brief look behind her, beholding the Titan’s savage features as they came into full detail. 

A white light illuminated Lucius’s right hand, and, in an instant, a hammer about the size of his arm appeared in his clutches. It was spiked on the ends, and seemed to be made of the same material as his skin.

_ So that’s where the name comes from. _ Despite the peril, Teresa found it hard to take her eyes off of the battle, as so many others would in her position. Watching two Titans about to face off against each other was a once-in-a-lifetime chance; the Holders fought with their armies, not with their Titans. 

She spared herself a brief look the other way, towards the forest. 

_ Henry, Lou...please be okay. There’s no point in all this if you don’t come back alive. _

The enemy - no _ , Demetri  _ \- finally reached Lucius, and leapt forward, lunging at him. Lucius brought his hammer down on Demetri’s left shoulder with a booming  _ thwack _ , which brought the Titan crashing to the ground. The massive figure threw up the earth around it as it collapsed onto a hill underneath, crushing an unlucky group of men who had been late to flee the field.

With a second swing, he hit Demetri straight on the head as he tried to get up, crushing his skull. Finally, with his third swing, he hit him right in the nape of the neck, although with less power than the previous two. Lucius stood over his opponent in triumph, hammer held high; if not for his earlier goading, it looked like he was ready to give the finishing blow. 

_ That’s where shifters stay when they transform. I know that much _ . 

When they transformed into a Titan, shifters kept their actual bodies, which stayed in the nape. Thus, the objective of Titan battles was to go for your opponent’s nape while simultaneously defending your own - an objective which Lucius had accomplished with smashing success. From the neck up, the Titan was a bloody mess, although the cloud of steam coming off of its wounds prevented her from seeing exactly what was going on. She stopped running, trying to get a better look.

It was a mistake on her part.

A bullet whined through the air, narrowly missing her head. Panicking, she broke once more into an all-out sprint, but, no matter how fast she ran, she couldn’t beat the second shot. Before she even had time to react, the top half of her pinky had been blown clean off at the second knuckle.

“Agh!” she cried, clutching her finger in pain. She forced her legs to move forward, even through the pain.

_ Keep going! You stop now, you’re dead! _

A new wave of Marleyans was charging, but only in the areas immediately around their fallen Titan. The men who had been firing on her, briefly but intensely, seemed to have stopped to go support whatever new objective they’d been given. 

Lucius was still standing over the body, but didn’t do anything to stop them. The few Eldians who were still in the general area fired on them, and some of the Marleyans fired back, but for the most part the fighting had ceased. A single soldier climbed up the Titan’s nape and pulled someone out. The body was attached to several cords of flesh, so it was less of a pulling and more of a tearing; still, though, he had to be gentle. Anyone would be in bad shape after having their body crushed by a giant hammer.

_ So that’s his real body, then. _

“ _ I...see how it is, Mitya. _ ” Lucius said, haltingly. His earlier pluck was gone. It sounded like he’d aged a good ten years. 

“ _ Fire at will. _ ”

The Eldians, who had returned to the scene in force after the defeat of Demetri’s Titan, obeyed the order. Both sides’ formations were in disarray, but, by taking the initiative, the Eldians were the first to capitalize off the chaos. With a few volleys of fire they sent the Marleyans around Demetri’s Titan fleeing, but not before they’d recovered his body. It soon turned into a general rout, and, all along the line, the Eldians pushed back the enemy. Teresa took no part in it. She’d had enough of fighting.

_ I’ve gotta get back to the camp. Get something to stop the bleeding,  _ she thought, grimacing in pain. For now, she kept her finger - or, rather, what was left of it - wrapped in the outer edges of her uniform. 

Cries of victory erupted from the Eldians as the last of the Marleyan infantry finished their retreat.

_ Why isn’t he going after them?  _ Teresa thought, looking up at Lucius. He hadn’t moved a muscle.

Suddenly, his towering figure collapsed over top of that of Demetri’s, hitting the ground with a  _ thud _ loud enough to be heard for miles.

_ Oh, shit! _

The steam from Demetri’s decomposing Titan body, as well as from Lucius’s nape, blocked her view. All she could do was listen to the conflicting orders, shouted in panicked voices:

“Get General Ackerman!”

“Send word to Brzenska and Pendegrast! They’ve gone too far ahead!”

“Keep guard on Lord Tybur!”

“Advance! We aren’t through with them yet!”

There was an old military aphorism that said to bring down an army, one had to go for its head. Although the nape would have been a more fitting example in this case, the basic idea still held true. With her father nowhere in sight, Lucius on the ground, and the two remaining highest ranked generals on either flank still trying to encircle the Marleyans, the chain of command was breaking down. It was a mercy that the enemy didn’t attack, now that both Titans were down and the odds were even.

Teresa gritted her teeth and walked on. 

_ We’ve won. I don’t know if I can do this again. Thank God it’s all finally over. I just hope everyone else is alright. _

_...Damn. _

It was the second time that day she’d caught herself talking to God.

\---

The older man’s voice was the first thing Henry heard as he came to.

“Alright, Henry. I’m going to cut your leg off now. Miss Eliza, fetch me my bonesaw, if you would.”

“W-”

“What?”

“Your leg, Henry. I’m cutting it off. ‘Field amputation’ is the proper term for it. It’s a necessary measure to stop infection from spreading to the rest of your body. We can’t have you dying prematurely, you know. I’ve already prepared everything. All that’s left is to actually do the cutting. It’s a shame you woke up when you did; it would’ve made this a little easier if you’d stayed asleep. Oh, well.”

Henry took a look at his leg, and immediately wished he hadn’t. The right half of his trousers had been cut off, leaving the limb exposed. The point where he’d pulled out the caltrop was starting to look ugly; although the bleeding had subsided, the area around it was an aggressive shade of red, and it was beginning to leak pus. He could tell it had been cleaned up somewhat, but it still wasn’t a pleasant sight.

_...What happened? How did I get here? _

_ How am I not dead by now? _

A linen scarf and tourniquet were tied tightly at the point right before the leg met his hip, one over the other. The throbbing pain hadn’t subsided, either, although he had a feeling it was about to get a lot worse.

He was lying on his back on top of a bright red cloth. He was in a tent - one of the medical ones, no doubt - whose only furnishing was a single table on which a kit of tools was spread out haphazardly. They all had sharp, jagged edges. Henry thought they looked more like weapons than medical instruments.

“My bonesaw, Miss Eliza…”

The doctor was an older man; if Henry had to guess, he’d put him in his mid-fifties or so. He had a head of short gray hair, parted down the middle. Set unevenly on his hawkish nose was a pair of circular, wiry glasses, through which peered bright tealish-green eyes.

“Eliza!”

“Give me a second, Dr. Yeager!” came the girl’s call from outside the tent, followed by the sound of her rummaging through what sounded like countless tools. After a few moments, she emerged through the tent flap, bonesaw in hand.

“Here you go,” she said, crossly, handing it to the doctor.

“This is my assistant,” Dr. Yeager said, gesturing to the girl. She had short auburn hair, done up neatly in a ponytail. Her wide brown eyes seemed to convey the idea that she had absolutely no idea what she was doing, an assertion supported by the fact it had taken her over a minute to find something Henry recognized instantly.

_ It’s a bonesaw. Standard issue. Come on. _

_ She’s cute, but I don’t want her anywhere near me right now. Just get on with it. Let’s get this over with. I’ve come face to face with death once already today. I don’t need malpractice to be what does me in. _

“Miss Eliza Hopkins. She’ll be the one performing the operation.”

“ _ What? _ ” Henry and Eliza exclaimed in unison.

“Dr. Yeager, what are you saying? I’ve been here two days!”

“I don’t want some musty girl I don’t know being the one taking my leg off!”

“Excuse me?”

Dr. Yeager laughed. 

“I crack myself up sometimes,” he said. “I kid, I joke, I jest! Relax. You’re in the hands of a professional.” 

He took the bonesaw in his hand and knelt down on Henry’s right side, examining the wound.

_ Wait...did he say Hopkins? _

“Yes, that’s  _ the  _ Hopkins family,” said Dr. Yeager. “She’d rather be a field nurse than a Titan. I have my fair share of questions, but I’ve found it prudent to stop asking, especially where they’re concerned. I want no part in politics.”

The Hopkins family was one of the Holder dynasties. They held the Armored Titan, with which they ruled a good portion of the center of the continent. That was the extent of Henry’s knowledge on them. Throughout history, the only constant was that they’d been thoroughly unremarkable.

“Open your mouth,” Dr. Yeager ordered, placing a pipe between Henry’s teeth. “Bite down on that. The smoke will help to ease the pain somewhat, but I can’t promise you this won’t hurt. Eliza, help me hold him down.”

“Right.”

The pipe stifled Henry’s muffled protests as Eliza moved behind him, holding his arms and upper body down.

“My knife?”

“Here,” said Eliza, handing him a small surgical knife.

“Right. Bite down,” said Dr. Yeager.

With the knife, the doctor began paring the skin under Henry’s tourniquet. Henry writhed in pain, but Eliza and Dr. Yeager held him down, stopping him from moving enough to disrupt the operation. After an eternity of cutting and slicing, Dr. Yeager finally produced the bonesaw. Through teary eyes, he watched as, despite his struggles, the saw made its first cut through his leg.

It was then that, for the second time that day, he passed out.

\---

The moon rose over the plain. Although the Eldians controlled the field and the fighting had stopped, it didn’t feel like a victory. Teresa sat by herself in the camp, no longer committed to her disguise, watching the dead and wounded being carted and carried through. 

Several pyres had been put up, in which burned the bodies of any Marleyan soldier the Eldians could find, dead or wounded. Although they’d mostly died down by now, Teresa knew she’d never forget what a man getting burned alive sounded like. What it  _ smelled  _ like. The acrid odor of charred flesh on the cold night air was one that she hoped she’d never have to come across again. What disturbed her the most were the cheers that would arise from the Eldian soldiers as the agonized screams subsided.

By the light of one of these fires, she had asked a soldier why they were doing it. He was considerably inebriated - he had to be, judging by the way he slurred his words and how he didn’t ask what a sixteen year-old girl was doing on a battlefield.

“The Marleyans believe that, without the body, the soul can’t move on. Crazy stuff, huh? So we take them and we burn them, so that they get stuck in an endless purgatory. Even in death, Eldia wins.”

“Eldia wins!” echoed his fellow soldiers, raising their fists in victory.

_ That’s horrible... _

The thoroughfare of the main camp bustled with activity. It seemed like there was no end to the carts that wheeled in the bodies by the dozens. Lucius was the only Tybur accounted for. Henry and Louis had been reported as missing until a more comprehensive search could be conducted. She found herself offering a silent prayer, not even to God, but to any power that was willing to listen: 

_ Please, no matter what, don’t let me see one of their faces on these carts. I- _

Teresa smiled despite herself, as she once again realized what she was thinking.

_ That’s three times, now. _

She looked up at the night sky, towards the stars. Clouds were gathering, but she could still make out some of the more familiar constellations. 

_ There’s the Westerner, the Emperor’s Hand...there’s Pakko and Lady Brandt, too. Crazy how these are the same stars that the first Eldians saw, two thousand years ago. Maybe this is why it’s so natural to pray to the sky. It’s so massive, so beautiful, that you can’t help but be overwhelmed by it.  _

One of the carts ran into a rut on the side of the main path, and tipped over, spilling about a dozen bodies onto the ground. There was one of them that stood out from the others; it seemed a lot smaller, and had been covered from head to toe in a cloth which had come off in the spill. It lay face down on the ground. Teresa’s heart jumped when she saw the hair. 

_ Brown. Curls... _

She went to go turn it over. 

_ I have to see for myself. I know it’s just a false alarm, but I’ve got to make sure. _

Teresa turned the body onto its back, and found herself looking directly into the eyes of Louis Tybur.


	6. Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the other side of the board, a pawn faces the repercussions of making the wrong move.

**CHAPTER SIX**

_ Dogs _

Dante didn’t know what time it was. It was late at night; the rest of the Marleyan army had gone to sleep, and he sat by himself at a fire in some corner of the camp. Every minute felt like its own self-contained eternity. What had happened - what he’d done - replayed in his head, over and over. Although his eyes grew heavy as he stared into the crackling flames, and every part of him was gripped by exhaustion, he felt he would never sleep again.

Dante didn’t know what day it was. How could he, when they were all the same? Wake up, eat, sit around, sleep, repeat - that was his life. It was boring, but it was familiar, and he valued it because he had nothing else. He had no friends in the army; the soldiers spoke  _ of _ him, but not  _ to  _ him. Every once in a while, he’d get orders from his superiors, but those days were few and far between. Today had been one of them. He wished it hadn’t.

For all he knew, today could have been his last day on Earth. He would’ve liked it that way.

On the outside, Dante found it hard to pick out a single part of himself that he felt looked good. He was tall and lanky, with long, thin fingers and a nose that didn’t quite fit on his face. He had a head of disheveled, thick brown hair that stuck up in the back, but he couldn’t cut it; the Marleyans didn’t trust him with a knife. His eyes were sky blue, and his face wore a soft and unthreatening expression, betrayed only by the bags under his eyes. Just based on appearance, you could never tell that Dante was a soldier - and he wasn’t. Not  _ just _ a soldier. He was something far worse.

Spreading his red coat out on the grass, Dante laid down on his back and stared at the stars above. There was a certain comfort he took in the knowledge that the night sky would be the same, no matter what happened. He leaned in closer to the fire, stretching out his hands. His fingertips had grown numb from the cold. 

**_Sleep_ ** , said the voice in his head.  **_You need it._ **

The voice in his head had always been there for as long as Dante could remember. It was the voice of a middle-aged man, and every word it said was spoken in a tired, weary rasp. As he had with everything else in his station in life, he’d learned to live with it. It wasn’t particularly difficult. After all, the voice was just that - a voice. It wasn’t like another consciousness living in his head. The voice could speak, but Dante didn’t know if there was anything behind it. Not that it mattered; if there was, there was nothing he could do about it.

“I’ve tried,” muttered Dante. “I want to. But I can’t. You’d understand, if you’d done what I did today.”

**_I do understand. Now get some rest._ **

“But I’m not tired.”

**_You’ve always been a bad liar, Dante._** **_Sleep._**

“Nothing you’re going to say to me will make me change my mind. You saw what happened.”

**_You lost. If you don’t let your body rest, though, you’ll never stand a chance of even winning in the first place._ **

“Is that a bad thing?”

**_The only reason you’re around is because you’re useful to them. If you lose next time, it won’t just be the battle - it’ll be your usefulness in their eyes. The Commander wants results, and if you can’t give them to her, you’re as good as dead._ **

“Is that a bad thing?” Dante repeated.

The voice fell silent for a moment.

**_Go to sleep, Dante._ **

Dante wrapped himself in his coat, shivering from the bitter cold, and turned on his side to face the fire. It had begun to die out, and he watched the smoldering embers lose their glow before he gave his answer.

“Fine, but only because I’m too tired to keep this up.”

\---

“Hey. Devil.”

The call wasn’t what woke Dante up. It was the swift kick to the face that did.

Dante rolled over, away from his assailant, and looked up. It was a Marleyan soldier. On his face was written nothing but cold malice. Standing up hesitantly, Dante met him eye to eye, but soon found himself turning away from the man’s harsh gaze.

“Devil,” the soldier said, again. That was their favorite word for him. Eldians believed themselves to be a divine race, blessed by God with the Power of the Titans. The Marleyans believed them to be the spawn of the devil. In the Marleyan camp, their interpretation of Eldia’s ancestry won out, and despite his Eldian blood Dante wasn’t in any position to dispute it.

“The Commander wants you in center camp. Come on,” he said, gesturing for Dante to follow him with a quick swipe of his hand.

Dante obeyed.

The camp was a mess. Tents were strewn about everywhere, with no discernible pattern or regard for regulation. It was rare to see a man in uniform; it was even rarer to hear a word spoken in a language that he understood. 

Since their vast majority of their history had been spent in constant exile from their homeland, the Marleyan nation had very quickly run out of enough Marleyans to fill the ranks of their armies. Because Marley wouldn’t stand a chance against Titans either way, though, this had only become a problem after Eldia had started going after them with armies made up of men instead of Titans. Once they realized that they were outnumbered, Marley began appealing to the other nations that had grudges to bear against the Eldian Empire, and began receiving supplies, manpower, and resources from all over the world. This practice had started with the disbanding of the Eldian standing army many years ago with only a few dozen people; now, foreign volunteers made up over half the army. Judging by the soldier’s accent, he was one of them.

Dante had always found it strange how the Marleyans didn’t speak Marleyan themselves. Despite their best efforts, the last native speakers had died out over a millennium ago while the nation was in a period of disorganization. No matter how much they tried to dress it up with their foreign loanwords and accents, the fact remained that Marley spoke the language of the hated oppressor. He’d always found it ironic how, no matter how much Marley hated the Eldians, they had no way of expressing that hatred but in their tongue. Their very words - their very  _ thoughts _ \- were those of the enemy. 

“Do you know what happened to the Second Foreign Brigade?” the soldier asked after a while, as they walked through the camp.

“No. I’m sorry.”

“They were wiped out yesterday. To a man.”

“I’m...sorry to hear about that,” Dante said hesitantly.

“Don’t be sorry to hear it. Be sorry you did it,” the soldier said with a snarl as he grabbed Dante by the collar and threw him to the ground. His face hit the iced earth with a loud  _ thud _ , and he drew a sharp breath at the shock. Reflexively, he tried to turn away from the soldier, but the man’s boot on his face stopped him dead in his tracks.

“My brother was in that brigade at the very front of the line. It was going to be his first battle. Since they lowered the minimum age for enlistment, he joined the army to follow me. Imagine my surprise - my  _ horror  _ \- when I found out that not only did he die, but it was one of our own who did it.”

The man turned Dante’s face over with his foot, and kicked his front teeth in with the heel of his boot. Blood began pouring from his exposed gums and the roof of his mouth, and Dante felt himself starting to choke on the blood gathering at the back of his throat. 

“But then again, you’re not one of our own, are you?” the soldier asked. A single tear streamed down his face, but other than that he regarded Dante with a stern and distant expression. Cold hatred filled the man’s amber eyes. The commotion had attracted the attention of the Marleyans who’d happened to be nearby, and they formed a circle around the two, each watching the scene with passive interest. None made any effort to intervene. Dante made no effort to resist.

**_You’d better not die here,_ ** said the voice bemusedly.

“I’ll try,” said Dante, unknowingly out loud.

_ Shit _ .

“You’ll  _ what _ ? Try? You can never be one of us. You can never atone for the sins of those who came before you, for the sins your race is committing at this very moment. It doesn’t matter that you’re in our army. You will never be on our side. Got that, devil?” the man spat. “You killed my brother - not just  _ my  _ brother, actually. Think of how many brothers, sons, husbands, and fathers you killed yesterday. And for what? What did they die for? They died for you to  _ lose  _ once you were done running their bodies over. You really are the worst kind of scum.”

“I-”

Dante started coughing violently as the blood dripped down his throat, coming out in bright red flecks that stood out conspicuously on the man’s shiny black boots. 

Seething in rage, the soldier kicked Dante’s temple in with his boot, and brought it down again directly over his face, cracking his skull. Tears came to his eyes and he cried out in pain, but it was lost in the accretion of blood and mucus that had formed in his mouth and turned to a low gurgle.

“What’s going on here?”

The man’s voice cut through the racket. Through the film of tears Dante saw a figure part the crowd and walk over to him.

“Lieutenant Iani, what gave you the impression that you could treat such a valuable soldier like this?”

Dante’s heart jumped at the word “valuable.” It always felt good to know that, no matter how badly he was treated, he was still needed.

“‘Valuable?’ The kid’s a liability,” the lieutenant snarled. “All I was doing was knocking some sense into him. He lost to Lord Tybur, and killed some of our own men in the process. When we went to go retrieve his body we lost even more men. He’s got no control over his powers,” he said, his voice rising with emotion, “so why should we treat him like one of our own?”

Murmurs of assent swept through the crowd. As usual, Dante found he had no one on his side.

The other man sighed. 

“Dante possesses the Power of the Titans. That fact in itself makes his life more important than any of ours. Any hope of finally defeating Eldia and putting an end to these two thousand years of bloodshed rests on him.”

“Bullshit! We were doing just fine before we found him! How can we even trust a devil-blood like him to fight his own kind? What if he’s on their side?”

“Would you say that about the Commander, Lieutenant?”

Lieutenant Iani looked away, and finally removed his boot from Dante’s face. Dante turned over and immediately coughed up all the blood that had built up in his mouth, staining the dewy morning grass a brilliant shade of red.

“...No.”

“That’s no  _ sir _ to you, Lieutenant. Since you’ve failed in the very simple task of escorting a boy across less than half a mile of friendly territory, the Commander has entrusted me with this responsibility.”

“You mean-”

“You let her down, Lieutenant. See to it that your emotions don’t get in the way of the task at hand again.”

The man held out a hand. Dante took it, and rose to his feet unsteadily. He cast a glance over at the Lieutenant, and saw the man wearing an expression of crushing disappointment that was like night and day compared to the hostility he’d seen just moments before.

“Now, come on, Dante. We’re behind schedule.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
